Detective Jack Stratton Box Set

by Christopher Greyson

  Michael’s pace slowed even more. He stared back at the blonde until he passed the table, and then swiveled his head forward and picked up his pace again until Jack had to hustle down the street after him.

  Jack reached his car, hopped in, and started the engine, waiting for Chandler. In his rearview mirror he saw the Toyota pull out and ducked his head as it drove past. A few seconds later, Chandler jumped in.

  “Go!” he panted.

  Just as Jack was about to pull out, a car rolled up beside him and stopped, blocking them in.

  “What the hell?” Jack said. He honked his horn.

  The woman driving scowled and pointed to the parking space behind Jack.

  “She’s parallel-parking behind us,” Chandler said.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. Move, lady.”

  As soon as the woman backed up enough for Jack to squeeze through, he pulled out.

  “He’s stopped at the light,” Chandler said, craning his neck out the window. “It’s only three cars ahead of us. But there are three cars ahead of him. I hope it’s not a quick light.”

  But it was a quick light and only four cars got through before it changed back to red. Michael got through; Jack and Chandler were stuck.

  Jack laid on the horn. He let fly with a steady stream of swears.

  “Now you sound like Aunt Haddie,” Chandler joked.

  “Shut up.” Jack stuck his head out the window, searching the cars and traffic ahead. “We’ll never find him now.” Jack rubbed both hands down his face. “This sucks. The first time I tail a car, and I lose him. Damn.”

  “Maybe he’s going back to Fairfield?”

  “No. The highway’s to the left. He went straight.”

  When they finally made it through the intersection, they drove straight, peering down the side roads, but the silver Toyota was nowhere in sight. Jack rolled to a stop at another light.

  “Well, where to now?” Chandler asked.

  The light turned green, and Jack hesitated. The car behind him beeped.

  “You gonna go?” Chandler said.

  Jack stomped on the gas and banged a U-turn. Horns blared all around.

  Chandler grabbed the dashboard. “Hey! What are you doing?”

  “Did you notice anything when you followed Michael?”

  Chandler took off his hat and wiped his brow. “No.”

  Jack headed back the way they’d come. “Well, I did. I betcha he’s sleeping with the blonde.”

  “What blonde?”

  “Remember that café with the tables outside?” Chandler nodded. “And the way he doubled back?” Another nod. “There was a woman, a blonde. The way she looked at him as he passed. And he looked at her, and slowed way down. They know each other but didn’t acknowledge it. Not a wave or anything.”

  “Then how do you know they know each other?”

  “It’s like when we got kicked out of the Charlie Horse.”

  “Because of you,” Chandler added.

  “Yes, but…before the act began, I told you that the hypnotist and the guy in the red shirt were in cahoots.”

  “And you were right. The whole thing was a setup. The guy in the red shirt was a plant.”

  “Yeah. Well, that wasn’t just a lucky guess. The hypnotist was mingling around the club, and I watched him. Him and that guy—they exchanged a look. Just like Michael and the blonde. I’m telling you, they know each other.”

  Chandler leaned up against the door. “You think Michael’s having an affair because of a look?”

  “Not just a look. Think about it. He drives all the way from Fairfield, gets out of his car, walks down the sidewalk, turns around and walks back, then just leaves? Why?”

  “True. That’s weird.”

  “He has to know her. She was what he wanted to see. It fits. It’s why I wanted to follow Michael in the first place.”

  “How could you know Michael was having an affair?”

  “I didn’t. It was a hunch.”

  “I don’t know, Jack. It seems sort of weak. Even if he is having an affair, that doesn’t make him a killer.”

  “Statistically, seventy-eight percent of the time, when a woman is killed, it’s by someone she knows. Michael would be the prime suspect if they hadn’t lost focus and arrested Jay.”

  “That doesn’t mean Michael killed her.”

  Jack paused. “No. But right now, we just need to get the cops to look at other suspects—to actually get back to investigating instead of locking in on Jay. We bring the cops proof of an affair, and they have to look more closely at Michael—he has a possible motive for killing his wife.”

  Chandler raised an eyebrow.

  Jack leaned over the steering wheel and stared out over the hood. “Or maybe I’m just getting desperate.”

  He pulled into a parking space across from the bistro. “Good, the blonde’s still here,” he said, pointing her out to Chandler. “I want to see where she goes.” He shut off the engine. “Same deal as before? I’ll start behind them, you cover this side of the street?”

  “Okay.” Chandler held out his hand and they knuckle-bumped.

  “We’ve got good timing. They’re paying the check now.”

  As the two women left the café, Jack casually followed them down the block. They were just chatting away, completely unaware of Jack. The brunette’s hands flew in all directions, and once in a while, Jack heard her loud laugh.

  They took a left at the corner and headed toward a modern glass and steel building set back from the road. Floor-to-ceiling windows looked out on the trees that surrounded the building on three sides.

  As the women went inside, Jack turned back and met up with Chandler. “Let’s go get the car.”

  “Don’t you want to check out the building?” Chandler asked. “From a distance,” he added quickly.

  Jack grinned. “Yeah, but we can do that from the car.”

  A few minutes later they were parked in the building’s lot. The big windows meant they had a direct view into the interior—a typical cubicle farm.

  Chandler exclaimed, “Hey, the girl at the front desk—”

  “The chatty brunette,” Jack finished.

  Chandler’s hand shot out. “And there’s the blonde. See, walking near the big plant on the left?”

  Jack leaned against the steering wheel. The blonde sat down at a cubicle and disappeared from view.

  Jack rolled down his window, and Chandler followed suit. A cool breeze blew through the open windows, bringing with it the smell of freshly cut grass and the scent of roses from the bushes behind them.

  Chandler played with the rubber seal around the window. “Why didn’t Michael talk to the blonde?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wants to lie low. Everyone knows the cops always look at the husband. Put yourself in Michael’s shoes now. Would you want to get caught with another woman and have the cops look harder at you?”

  Chandler nodded, considering.

  “And what if he did do it? What do people do after they commit a crime?”

  Chandler made a face. “A crime like killing your wife? I’m sure I wouldn’t know.”

  “You have to try. Remember when I stole that case of soda?”

  “Yeah, I remember.” Chandler frowned. “I got grounded for a week because I was there.”

  “Sorry. Again,” Jack added. “I was only seven, by the way.”

  “It was still stupid. I told you it belonged to the store. Who just leaves a case of soda on the sidewalk?”

  Jack waved his hand. “Whatever—that doesn’t matter. The point is, I knew it was wrong. So I hid the case in the shed, and then I couldn’t sleep all night. I kept thinking that Aunt Haddie knew I’d stolen the soda. I thought the store owner and the police were watching me. I went out to the shed to check if it was still there three times that night. And finally I confessed. The guilt and fear of getting caught drives you crazy.”

  “Like ‘The Tell-Tale Heart,’” Chandler said.


  “Poe, right?”

  “Yeah. But that’s if Michael is guilty. And we don’t know that yet. You’re jumping to a lot of conclusions.”

  “Maybe,” Jack said. “But consider how Michael reacted to the van. He thought they were following him. He’s acting suspicious, just like I did when I felt guilty. And if he really thinks he’s being watched, he’s not going to run around with his mistress out in public. He’d keep a low profile.”

  “I still don’t know, Jack. If he’s feeling guilty about something, it’s probably the fact that he’s having an affair. Maybe she’s married.”

  Jack made a face.

  Chandler’s fingers drummed the dashboard. “And why drive all the way up here just to walk by her?”

  “Because he’s too paranoid to stay away? Cheaters think everyone else cheats, too. So Michael may worry that she’s stepping out on him. You add that to paranoia from his wife’s murder, and it’s a recipe for crazy.”

  “You know what?” Chandler crossed his arms. “I agree with almost everything you think, but that doesn’t give us any proof of anything. Right now, even the affair itself is pure guesswork. All you have to go by is a look.”

  Jack’s hands balled into fists. “I can’t think of any way to prove it.”

  “Betcha the brunette knows.” Chandler nodded in the direction of the receptionist.

  “Probably. Girls talk.”

  “Hey!” Chandler turned in his seat to look at Jack. “Go to that detective and have them get a wiretap.”

  Jack laughed. “Oh, they love me down there at the precinct. ‘Wiretap’? Sure.”

  “Yeah. Just joking.”

  “Besides, on what grounds? As you pointed out, all I can say right now is that Michael and that woman looked at each other. I’ll sound like an idiot.”

  Chandler exhaled.

  Jack closed his eyes. The sweet scent from some nearby rosebushes drifted through the open window.

  Chandler cleared his throat. “Are you taking a power nap? What are you doing?”

  “Thinking.” Jack sniffed, then opened his eyes. “That just gave me an idea.” He started the car.

  “What idea? The wiretaps?”

  “Nope.” Jack grinned. “But I think I can prove they’re having an affair.”

  Chandler looked doubtful. “You can prove this from a distance, I’m assuming?”

  Jack didn’t answer.

  26

  Delivery

  Forty-five minutes later, Jack pulled the car into the parking lot again—but this time with a half dozen balloons floating up from the backseat. One drifted forward, and Chandler shoved it back, annoyed.

  “I thought that credit card was just for an emergency,” Chandler said.

  “This is an emergency. Grab me a pen out of the glove compartment, would you?”

  Chandler searched the glove compartment and handed Jack a chewed-up pencil.

  “Keep looking. There’s a pen in there somewhere.”

  Chandler threw the pencil on the floor and moved around papers and protein bar wrappers until he found an uncapped pen. “You ready to explain what the balloons and flowers are for?”

  “They’re bait,” Jack said. He pulled the cap off the pen with his teeth, and wrote something on the little card that came with the balloons.

  “What are you writing? You don’t know her name,” Chandler said.

  Jack smiled. “I don’t need to know it. Here’s the message: I need to see you. I miss you. Love, Michael.” He grinned and shoved the card into its little envelope.

  Jack drove the car right up to the front door of the building, took the bouquet and the balloons from the backseat, and headed inside. Chandler, grumbling and shaking his head, waited in the car.

  The lobby was open and airy, filled with tropical plants and a waterfall wall that flowed into a small koi pond. With the summer sun streaming through the windows, it felt like a rain forest, despite the air-conditioning running so high it created a breeze. The contemporary reception desk, a sweeping curve of glass, metal, and smoky plastic, reminded Jack of Star Trek.

  The brunette raised an eyebrow as Jack approached.

  “Hello.” Jack smiled. “Delivery.”

  “Who’s it for?” Her voice was nasal.

  Jack reached into his pocket and turned it out: empty. Awkwardly, he shifted the balloons into his other hand, then searched the opposite pocket and pulled out several scraps of paper.

  The brunette tipped her head to the side and smirked.

  Jack shrugged sheepishly. “I’m sorry. I just got the address.” He took out the envelope. “There’s a card, but no name on it.”

  The brunette snatched the card out of his hand, then proceeded to read what Jack had written on the inside and smiled knowingly. “I know who it’s for. Thanks.” She waved her hand as if she were shooing away a fly, then turned and placed the flowers and balloons behind her.

  Jack had to force himself not to run back outside.

  “Well?” Chandler said.

  “She took the bait.”

  Jack drove to a spot at the far side of the lot, where they watched the events unfold, like two kids watching a crime thriller at a drive-in movie.

  The brunette receptionist was walking through the cubicle farm, balloons floating behind her. Like gophers popping their heads out of their holes, several employees’ heads rose above cubicle walls as they stood to watch the parade pass by. Most were no doubt looking around to see who would be the lucky recipient of the gifts; one woman gave a dismissive wave of her arm when the receptionist passed her by.

  The longer the brunette walked, the faster Jack’s heart beat.

  As Jack had hoped, she stopped at the blonde’s cubicle and held out the flowers and the balloons.

  Chandler pounded Jack on the back. “Bam!” he cheered. “Back left pocket, baby!”

  Jack clenched both fists and held them high. “They have to be having an affair!”

  “You were right. The receptionist knew exactly who to give them to.”

  The blonde stood in her cubicle, her phone pressed against her ear. She was slowly twisting back and forth with a bright smile on her face.

  “You think she’s calling Michael?” Chandler asked.

  “Guaranteed,” Jack said. “Look how happy she is.”

  The blonde stopped twisting.

  “Uh-oh…” Chandler said. “Looks like this is the part where Michael says, ‘I didn’t send you any flowers.’”

  The blonde covered the phone and turned to the receptionist. The brunette looked like an orchestra conductor gone mad. Her hands flew out in all directions.

  “Maybe we should go,” Chandler said. “You got your proof.”

  “Not yet,” Jack said. “Right now we don’t know if she called Michael Shaw. We’re just guessing. And I’m not talking to Clark unless I’m a hundred and fifty percent certain. But if Shaw comes here and talks to the blonde, it will prove that he knows her. Then we’ve got him.”

  “Or he gets us. Do you realize you’re luring a man back here who you think could be a killer?”

  “It’s not like we’re in danger,” Jack said. “You can’t really see us from the office building. And we’ll see Michael coming from a mile off.”

  “So that’s the plan? We’re just going to sit here and see if the psycho shows up?”

  “That’s the plan.” Jack grinned.

  Chandler didn’t.

  The minutes ticked away. Cars came and went, but the silver Toyota was nowhere to be seen. Jack drummed his fingers on the steering wheel.

  “How long are we gonna stay here?” Chandler asked.

  Jack turned to answer him, but his mouth clamped shut as the Toyota came into sight. Jack pointed, and they both watched the car zip into the parking lot and stop right at the front of the building.

  Michael got out, and the blonde and the brunette both came out to meet him. Michael paced back and forth, and Jack heard him yelling, though he couldn’t ma
ke out what he was saying.

  Suddenly the brunette looked in Jack’s direction. Jack thought the car was pretty well hidden, but her eyes narrowed. She shouted something and thrust her hand out—pointing straight at Jack.

  “Oh, hell no,” Chandler muttered.

  “Uh-oh… Our cover’s blown. Let’s go.” Jack started the car.

  Michael was already running toward them.

  The tires on the little car squealed as Jack shot out of the parking space. There was only one exit from the parking lot, and Jack drove straight for it.

  But Michael got there first. He blocked the exit, and his expression dared them to come closer. His face was bright red and his hands were clenched into fists. In between the string of profanities that flew out of his mouth, Jack picked out the words bloodsuckers and TV trash.

  “He’s nuts,” Chandler warned.

  “He thinks we’re reporters.” Jack cut the wheel and headed back into the parking lot.

  “What are you doing now?” Chandler said.

  “There’s another way out of here.” Jack pointed.

  “That’s called a sidewalk!” Chandler shouted.

  “It’s got a handicapped access ramp.”

  “It’s still a sidewalk, Jack,” Chandler repeated, his voice rising.

  Jack kept going, steering the tiny car up the ramp and then down the sidewalk. One wheel hugged the top of the curb while the other crushed the grass along the edge. As they dropped off the sidewalk onto the road outside the parking lot, metal scraping on the curb, Jack checked the rearview mirror to see whether anything had fallen off.

  “No, no, no.” Chandler leaned away from the window. “Incoming!” he warned.

  Michael had grabbed a rock, and now he heaved it at the car. The stone just missed the hood and bounced harmlessly into the street. They heard him screaming behind them.

  “He’s running back for his car,” Chandler said.

  The streetlight ahead turned yellow.

  “Go!” Chandler yelled.

  Jack laid on the gas and took a hard right. The little car’s engine whined. For a moment Jack thought they were in the clear—until he looked in his rearview mirror and saw the Toyota running the red light.